


I am the vine; you are the branches

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group H [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sex Toys, Soft Dom Aziraphale, Unapproved Uses of Miracles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: They’d discussed and planned, settled on a safeword (oysters); both of them completely enthusiastic for Aziraphale to have control.  As soon as Crowley sets foot in his office, it starts.A creeping thing, running up his leg, under his pants.  A thin vine, one of the ivy plants, looping around his calf and up his thigh.  Two more vines, one for each wrist, creeping up the outside of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, pulling him forward as they go.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group H [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937899
Comments: 18
Kudos: 94





	I am the vine; you are the branches

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Surrounded by His Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649343) by [Scmnz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmnz/pseuds/Scmnz). 



> My _second_ entry for the BT Tower Telephone game, this time in one of the E rated groups. The work that I got from Greg was _amazing_ even if I could only read half of it through the redactions. I got hung up on the throne being present, and it snowballed from there xD 
> 
> Title from John 15:5

Crowley has a spring in his step as he crosses the threshold of his flat. A delicious anticipation at the base of his spine. A smile spreads across his face as he tosses his keys onto the hook, cock already half hard in his jeans.

Not his fault his angel has great ideas.

They’d discussed and planned, settled on a safeword (oysters); both of them completely enthusiastic for Aziraphale to have control. As soon as Crowley sets foot in his office, it starts.

A creeping thing, running up his leg, under his pants. A thin vine, one of the ivy plants, looping around his calf and up his thigh. Two more vines, one for each wrist, creeping up the outside of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, pulling him forward as they go.

The one creeping up his thigh has found the waistband of his jeans, slithered up the flat plane of his stomach and doubled back down. The other two push his henley up and over his head, tossed to the side as they pull him further to his throne, as they lift him in the air. The first flicks open the button of his jeans, starts down the other leg, pulling the trousers and pants with him. 

The vines lift him carefully, binding his wrists to the golden spires at the top of his throne, his face propped against the cold metal crest. A fourth vine joins the one that so kindly removed his trousers, binding him at the ankles to the arms of the chair. He doesn’t remember the throne being this wide, being able to leave him spread out like this, naked and vulnerable. The loss of control goes straight to his cock, flushed red and hard.

“What a gorgeous picture you make for me, darling.”

“Would you call it a tempting picture, angel?” Crowley’s breath hitches as Aziraphale ghosts his hands over his thighs, kneading at his arse before trailing them up his back and into his hair.

“Such a treasure you are,” Aziraphale coos into his ear, fingers threading through crimson hair and pulling, “such a lovely thing and all mine.” 

Crowley keens, a needy sound that he would deny making until his dying day; back arching under Aziraphale’s hand. There’s a tease of something cold and slick between his cheeks, caressing over his hole and making him shiver.

“We haven’t used this one yet, I thought the ridges and the glass might make for some interesting sensations for you, dearest.”

Crowley shivers again, this time not from the cold. He loves when Aziraphale gets the toys out, means he’s serious, means he wants full control. As the smooth glass head of the dildo breaches his entrance, he lets go.

The dildo slides into him slowly, well-lubed and steady. Each ridge that spreads him wider is a glorious torture of its own, and Aziraphale takes his time sliding it in slowly, letting Crowley adjust. By the time the dildo bottoms out, Crowley is already a mess, flushed red and panting, precome staining the velvet of the throne.

“That’s it, darling, so good for me. You took that so well.” He whispers the words into Crowley’s skin, carries them on kisses down his spine, finger tracing the base of the dildo and the stretch of him around it. Crowley unconsciously grinds back, wanting movement, feeling full to bursting. “No, no, darling, all in due time.”

There’s the sound of a snap, an ozone tinge to the air, and their places are reversed. Aziraphale is spread across the chair, naked and soft and perfect and beautiful, cock already at full attention. The vines have changed tactic, binding Crowley’s ankles and wrists together behind him, forcing him to kneel on the floor.

“Sit up just a bit, there’s a love.” And Crowley does, because he will always do what Aziraphale asks, especially now. Aziraphale’s cock is flushed red and wanting and Crowley can’t help but lick his lips at the sight of it. “What do you want, darling, use your words.”

“Use me.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can think about them, before he can stop them. But that’s what he wants, to be a vessel for Aziraphale’s pleasure, to spend the rest of his days that way.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale says, one hand cupping Crowley’s cheek, sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, “What a precious thing you are.”

Crowley closes the distance himself, swallowing Aziraphale down, relishing the angel’s moans. The hand in his hair tightens as Aziraphale fucks himself with Crowley’s mouth. Crowley loves the stretch and the sting of it, the salt of Aziraphale and the weight of him on his tongue. He can feel his cock twitch and knows he could come from this alone and that would be blisteringly, beautifully enough.

But then, Aziraphale snaps his fingers, and the glass dildo slides out before slamming back in. Crowley falls forward, just a bit, knees spreading out further as the dildo fucks in and out of him. He moans around Aziraphale’s cock, looks up at him through his lashes.

“Beautiful, darling, so perfectly debauched for me, are you having fun?”

Crowley nods, swirls his tongue across the head of Aziraphale’s cock and takes him deeper, timing his swallows with every thrust of the dildo. He tries to grind back onto it, but it’s already setting a punishing pace.

It’s too much and not enough all at once; Aziraphale fucking his mouth and the dildo fucking him, building his release, ridges rubbing against his prostate and stimulating it to the point of no return.

Aziraphale thrusts up once more as he spills down Crowley’s throat, and one final thrust from the glass dildo is all it takes to send Crowley careening over the edge of his pleasure; come spilling onto the concrete between his legs.

With a wave of Aziraphale’s hand the vines disappear, and he tugs Crowley up into his lap. He peppers Crowley’s face with kisses, whispers praise and adoration into his skin as he slowly works the dildo out of him. Crowley collapses against his chest, boneless and weightless, whining at the loss. But two strong arms are wrapping around him, lifting and carrying him easily to the bedroom. Lying him down in soft sheets and blankets, whispering I-love-you after I-love-you, and each one finding their answering call.

Sated and content, Crowley drifts off to sleep in Aziraphale’s arms. Happy and warm and loved.


End file.
